JXHQ: Beautiful
by thechokesonyou
Summary: ONESHOT. Short story about the thoughts inside of the Joker's head involving Harley Quinn. She always wondered what she meant to him, and maybe she never would know. Maybe he wouldn't either.


**A/N: This is one of my dozens of Harley/Joker fanfics, but of course, the longer ones aren't perfect yet, and this is my favorite oneshot, so I figured, what better to be my first entry? I hope you guys enjoy, and remember that comments and feedback are almost better than magic tricks involving pencils. (But not quite.) Also, this is Heath's Joker. Enjoy!**

The city of Gotham was a dark place and a home to many, many dark people with dark pasts. The streets crawled with filth and disease and violence and crime rounded every corner. Everyone knew, though no one did anything. The poor couldn't help and the rich turned their cheeks. Gotham was at it's lowest. It was a hellish Kingdom for some, though. For the ins-and-outs of Blackgate Penitentiary, Gotham was home. The cops were corrupt, the mobs had dirt on everyone and for most petty thieves, gang leaders, rapists, murderers and muggers, the city had never felt… _safer. _

Of course, every kingdom, no matter how small needed a King. Who better to run the criminal streets of Gotham City than their very own Clown Prince of Crime? The Joker watched with satisfaction from the rooftop of his latest hideout as the sirens of Gotham filled his ears. It was like music, the sirens were, their very own melody playing just for him. The Joker had never understood how people could live in the woods or the mountains, secluded from life as we knew it. The sound of the city was beautiful to him. Then again, that was exactly the reason why.

Nothing the Joker ever found beautiful was beautiful to the rest of the world.

Not even her. He heard her now, approaching slowly and silently from behind. She moved like a wraith, with skilled practice from the months of learning at his side. He still could feel her presence, though. As accustomed to him as she'd become, he regretfully had grown just as familiar with her, in his own way. He knew her ins and her outs, every curve and edge, every tick and everything that made her flourish. She was his. He had shaped her, molded her and grown her in his image, just like God to the human race. In fact, he _was _her God. He knew it, as did she. The image of the fleshy pink scar in between her breasts, the raised line in the shape of J flashed before his eyes and made them close in pleasure. He wanted to consume, to own, to control, and with her, he always did. Even when plans fell through, when the Batman got the best of him, nothing ever changed with _her. _She was solid, though most never would've guessed. To the outside world she seemed like a frail, mindless doll, and while sometimes he viewed her that way, himself, he always remembered in the end how very strong she was. No one had ever lasted this long by the Joker's side, and he admired her tenacity. Every bruise, every scar, punch, cut, bite, kick, push, shout and harmful word she ever received, she never let it faze her. After all, she was his. Her soft hand fell gracefully onto the Joker's shoulder, waking him from his trance-like state.

He didn't turn his head to greet her, but he acknowledged her with a soft grunt. She was content there, not needing his greeting, or even a word. The knowledge that she was there, touching him, and he was not pushing her away was more than enough for Harley Quinn. She stayed silent for a few more moments, before her sweet, high voice finally spoke. "It's beautiful, ain't it, Mr. J?" He may love her. He sometimes thought he did. In moments like this, when he was confident in the fact that she was the only one who could see the world as he did, he believed it. The thought was banished afterwards, but Harley knew it was true, even if the Joker wouldn't admit it to himself or to her. She understood him, and loved every part of him. He was beautiful to her, and in turn she was beautiful to him.

"Perfection, Harley girl," He replied, his voice a low growl playing softly on the Gotham winds. She relaxed against him, her shoulder leaning on his as he rested his elbows on the balcony edge. Her head fell to his neck, and her breath was warm on his skin. He would never get used to that feeling. The feeling of being comfort. The feeling of being someone's rock. His fingers smoothed her hair back from her face and he began to hum, a tuneless melody that no one knew but him, and that he would not remember in the morning. It didn't matter to either of them. It was a song for her, in that moment. She would always know the tune, because the tune was him. The tune was his laugh, and his voice, every expression on his face, every flicker of his eyes, every breath that he took. They loved each other, whether the world, or themselves understood it or not.

And it was beautiful.


End file.
